I have always loved art. Fascination doesn’t even begin to what I feel when I see someone turn a canvas into a story, into a picture… into a web of hidden messages. Amazement doesn’t do it justice, when I see a statement piece of clothing, and think of the process of drawing it, sewing it, choosing the texture of the materials…
I always wanted to do art, but I never really could. I can copy a YouTube tutorial on a drawing but… nowadays … who couldn’t? That’s not art, that’s just pretending.
So, I gave up on the idea of ever pursuing art as more than a fantasy. It wasn’t encouraged anyway, where I’m from, to work on this type of creativity. Elders scorn it, adults laugh it off as silliness and associate it with “forever remaining poor” or worse. But that’s just a skewed label placed by those who don’t understand the true value of creation, or worse, who have never known true beauty, and therefore would not be able to recognise it.
One day though, I found a different kind of art, a surprising kind as it’s not something that comes to mind when you think of what constitutes an ‘artist’. I use my words to paint a story, the canvas being readers’ minds. I sew into souls instead of cloths, embroider lace and pearls and diamonds into them, to make the effects last. I take my trusted tattoo gun and write all over minds until words become one with your very essence.
In a way, you could say I’m imitating an artist, the only way I’m able to, and if I somehow manage to reach you in the same way they do; if I can somehow feed your soul the way an exquisitely detailed sculpture does, then my childish fantasy will become reality.
After all, you cannot force talent, you either have it or you don’t. But you can work with what you have and make the best of it. So this is me doing just that.
Enjoy!